Secrets Never Known
by A World of Demons
Summary: The Madman in AnnaBelle's dreams puts her on edge, but he also makes her feel wanted. He's searching, always searching, for her; shooting across time and space for the one thing he's always needed with him. And he won't stop looking until he has her.


_With another flash of lightning, the Madman leaped from his creaking seat, his feet set in a zealous pace towards the one place he had left._

AnnaBelle's eyes snapped open, flashing quickly across the pitch black room, scanning for something - someone - she knew wasn't there. He was never there, and she was almost certain he never would be, but that didn't stop her from always checking. She didn't know who he was; a figure of her imagination, she assumed. She'd never spoken to him, never even came close to him in her dreams (which really weren't dreams at all), but something about him kept her fearing for the moment she'd fall asleep and see him again. And yet that very same thing that frightened her about him made her lightheaded, in such a wonderful way, when thoughts of him came to her mind.

She ran her hand over her face, wiping away the cold sweat that was there. Turning on her side, she glanced at the digital alarm clock on her nightstand. The bright green numbers told her that the buzzer would blare in less than three minutes. Her arm lashed out and she smacked the off switch.

Just as usual, Anna swung her feet off of her bed and onto the carpet below. She trudged across the room to the dresser, where she'd set out her clothes the night before, then walked from the room with said items in her arms. She walked down the hallway, careful not to wake her parents or siblings, and closed the door behind her after entering the restroom.

She looked at herself in the mirror above the sink, taking in her fresh-from-sleep appearance. Her blonde hair was a knotted mess around her head, dark smudges surrounded her eyes from having forgotten to wash the mascara away before falling asleep. The strap of her tank top was falling away from her shoulder, revealing the small, star-shaped birthmark that was there.

Shaking her head lightly, she turned away from her reflection to start the water in the shower. Anna stripped herself of her pajamas and stepped into the tub. She was ready to start the new day.

* * *

><p>On the left-hand page of the notebook, and the three pages before it, was the account (or story, as Anna liked to call them) of her latest dream featuring the Madman. She'd been writing them down since she'd learned how to do so. She had all of the notebooks she'd ever written in; like one long, never-ending book.<p>

The opposite page was not filled with writing, but a drawing of the man that haunted her. She only had a pencil, but in her mind she could see him how he really was.

And so, as her eye loosely ran over each grey, etched line, it was as if she had fallen again into her dreams. Each fine line that created the man's short hair, each dash that formed together into the stubble that decorated his otherwise smooth features, and each so very rare wrinkle that scarred his juvenile visage. They all had fallen onto the paper in a satisfactory way that led the girl to almost smile at her skills. Then, as always, her eyes fell on the man's own colorless orbs and her frown was back once more. His eyes never felt quite right. No matter how many times she tried - and oh, AnnaBelle tried - they just never worked. In her mind and in her dreams, his eyes were _spectacular_. No, no spectacular. That wasn't nearly the word. But what could she call them? They held so much. _So_ much knowledge. His eyes held an old age that went far beyond his youthful face. AnnaBelle's man held the stars in his eyes.

After having taken a few moments to admire her drawing, she picked the pencil back up into her hand to make a few adjustments. The tip had just touched the paper when the notebook was snatched from beneath it.

"Hey!" AnnaBelle threw the writing utensil onto the desktop in anger. She brought her face up, blue eyes gleaming, to see who had taken such a personal item from her, only to meet the gaze of the substitute teacher the students of Ms. Jensen's English class would be having for all of their final week of school. "Why did you do that?" she ground through her teeth. "Give that back to me."

"Oooh," he said, a small smile gracing his handsome features. "Someone's a bit short-tempered. Shouldn't you be studying for your exams rather than drawing?"

She scowled at him more furiously. "Shouldn't you be over in England somewhere eating fish and chips or something?" Her attack on his heritage lashed out of her mouth like whip.

His brown eyes, just a shade darker than his hair, moved lightly over Anna's face. He brought the notebook up, scanning the picture she'd drawn and the words on the previous page. His eyebrows furrowed and his lips turned upside-down. Without looking back at her, without giving her the book back, he began walking back to the front desk. "Please see me after class, AnnaBelle."

* * *

><p>"I'm sorry for what I said," AnnaBelle murmured, standing in front of Mr. Smith. "I didn't mean to be rude."<p>

The good-looking young man shrugged his shoulders dismissively. He'd spent the better half of the last hour looking through the black covered notebook he'd taken from the girl. So many things filled its pages; things she should not have known. The same face was drawn over and over, from different angles and with different expressions. He hadn't seen that face in quite some time, and had a strong curiosity as to how she knew it.

"It's quite alright," he said, smiling at her to diffuse her tension. He tapped a long finger on the cover of the book. "I have some questions about this."

Anna was weary in her reply. "What kind of questions? It's just my dream journal."

Again, Mr. Smith's eyebrows were drawn together. "Your dream journal? What, these are your dreams?" He flipped through the pages quickly, finding a suitable excerpt to read aloud. "_The film seemed to skip at first, blinking slowly into existence until I could see a shining new world. And he stood at the center. His muscles tensed for the catch, his muddy eyes ever alert and his mind pounding against his skull. I don't know how exactly I'm so acutely aware of his desperation, but it's precisely what I feel as I step into the odd room. The air is thick with it. I'm lost and he's searching. Ever searching. Why? I keep asking him. Over and over I'll ask his blank face and over and over I'll receive the same answer: A cold shoulder as he turns to tap away at the complicated controls that I never could understand. The Madman. He's brilliant, I can read that in his eyes. Stone cold brilliant. But he's insane. Insane and diseased. And I'm reminded of that every night. Every night that his slim fingers graze dreamily over the cold metal, his digits tapping that same beat that's begun to haunt my waking hours. /one...two...three...four/ /one...two...three...four/ /one...two...three...four/_"

She could see it in her mind. That dream had happened just fifteen days ago. She had dreams exactly like it, with various differences, every month. Anna closed her eyes for the briefest moment, drawing the sounds of the room she'd seen so many times before back to her. She nodded her head to the beat as she heard and saw his fingers tap it out.

"This man," Mr. Smith said, breaking her concentration; tearing apart the film right before her mind's eye. "Who is he?"

AnnaBelle shook her head, opening her eyes slowly to look at the teacher. "I don't know. Like you read, I call him the Madman." She smiled to herself. "Because he's so very mad. I've dreamed of him my entire life. I have over a hundred notebooks like that one. I started writing my dreams about him down when I was about seven. He hasn't changed at all."

"You've never met him?"

"No. Not even in my dreams. It's as if I'm invisible. My mom always told me that it wasn't normal, having dreams about the same exact thing every night. Most people dream about different things, and they don't always remember their dreams. I've always remembered and it's always been him."

"So you've never even seen him, then? Only in your dreams?"

A small laugh escaped her lips. "Of course I've only ever seen him in my dreams. He isn't real, Mr. Smith. That's just silly."

Mr. Smith nodded. "Right," he agreed, smiling with her. He stared down at the notebook, not wanting to let it go, but knowing he would have to. So many questions had been left unanswered. But by reading the book he'd learned a few things. He swore to himself he'd get around to asking her about "the Madman" some more before the week was over. He picked up the book and handed it to AnnaBelle. "Here you are, Ms. Webber. Sorry for keeping you from your lunch hour."

"It's okay," she said, taking the notebook from his hands and clutching it to her chest. "It was...nice talking to you."

"You too."

AnnaBelle could see that he was becoming lost in his own thoughts and smiled to herself, thinking of how often that happened to her. She walked to the door of the classroom, opening it ahead of her. Before she left she gave Mr. Smith a final glance, realizing for the first time since she'd met him the week before how much he reminded her of the Madman.


End file.
